Matters of Fate
by impoeia
Summary: Drabbles. "Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart." - Marcus Aurelius. Inuyasha and the gang muse about fate and what it has brought them.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: **I just want to say this, so that there can be no misunderstandings. **I. Own. Nothing.** Say it with me now: Nothing, nada, nichts, and all that jazz. This goes for every chapter that follows. _Inuyasha _and all the characters rightfully belong to the brilliant Rumiko Takahashi. I am merely playing with her toys. So there. Copyright satisfied, now please, put the shotguns down. Put 'em down. Atta boy.

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**Part I - Miroku**

He was a pervert and womanizer. A man who preferred the finer things in life and to enjoy the pleasures this world had to offer. After all, he had good reason to. As a victim of Naraku, cursed with a _kazaana_ that was bound to kill him in the near future, each day was a gift and Miroku was bound and determined to experience it as such. Besides, who in their right mind could possibly resist the beauty, grace and the potential for 'fun' that was the female body?

But despite his pleasure seeking tendencies, his lust for life and…well, his lust in general, Miroku was also a monk. And as a monk, he was also a man who firmly believed in fate. All things happened for a reason. No action was taken without serving some grander purpose. He believed in this, yet doubted at the same time.

Because what possible purpose could his own fate serve? Why should his grandfather have fallen into Naraku's trap, only to be dealt a curse that would destine him and all his descendents to such horrible a death?

Miroku shuddered at the memory of his father, desperately trying to put some distance between himself and his son, as his _kazaana _widened till the point where it could suck him in whole. A death worse than death and one he would share all too soon.

_So what is the purpose? Why was I given such a fate? _His finger idly traced the prayer beads keeping his curse contained, while staring into the fire. It was a good question. A _purposeful _question and maybe if he could answer it, his doubts concerning his faith, at least, could be laid to rest.

There was a sound of shifting cloth, mumbled words more or less without sense. His thoughtful gaze shifted from their camp's fire, to the person lying next to him. Kagome and Shippo, both tightly snuggled into the formers sleeping bag, were still firmly planted in the land of dreams. As was Inuyasha; back resting against the trunk of the tree nearest to the miko. But Sango, possibly in the grips of some dream, had shifted enough in sleep for her blanket to fall off, leaving her upper body exposed to the relative cool of the night.

A soft smile played around the monk's lips. It was such a rare sight, to see the slayer in a state of near vulnerability. Sango was the spitting image of tough; a fire in her eyes and more guts than most men could handle. But Miroku was quite certain that tough did not include full, rosy lips, slightly parted in sleep and a thumb that was suspiciously close to said lips. Nor would tough normally shiver in an unexpected breeze.

Reaching over with one long arm, the monk carefully rearranged the blanket, tucking it a bit more securely around the sleeping woman's shoulder. The action caused his prayer beads to _clack _together and for a moment he remained frozen, eyes wandering from his cursed hand to the sleeping Sango. The light form the fire reflected off of her hair and face, as it reflected off of the polished surface of the beads.

The truth was, if his grandfather Miatsu had never been cursed by Naraku, then he, Miroku, would never have endeavored on his quest to find and kill the demon. Would he not have begun his hunt, he never would have met up with Kagome, Inuyasha and Shippo. Nor was it likely that his path would have crossed with that of Sango. Likely, he would have become a proper monk: studious, poised and above all else, celibate. A shiver went through him at the thought. To think, to miss out on all the earthly beauties the villages and towns had to offer him on the road. It was a crime, that's what it was!

And to miss out on the absolute perfection that was Sango: a passionate heart and strong will contained in a female figure so perfected, there were times he wanted to get down on his knees and weep. No! Without beautiful, fiery Sango, his life would have been an unbearable, monotonous grey.

His cursed hand tightened into a fist, the prayer beads keeping death away biting into his skin. All things had a purpose. Every fate was not without reason; even his preordained death through the _kazaana. _His fated death had led him to Sango and the small group of people he called his friends. His curse could be used to protect those he cherished, as well as the innocent they encountered in their hunt for the Shikon shards and Naraku.

He eyed the sleeping figure of Sango again and a sudden wide and lecherous grin replaced his previously thoughtful expression. His curse served another purpose as well. The grin widened as his 'cursed' hand inched towards the very tempting and very delectable target that was Sango's perfectly rounded derriere. There was no question that he would be slapped silly for his actions. It was his fate. And as his cursed hand found its target and Inuyasha, Kagome and Shippo jumped awake at Sango's loud, outraged scream, Miroku thought that it was all well worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II – Kagome**

It could not simply have been an accident that she just happened to fall down the well on her birthday. Accidents did happen; there was no doubt about that; at least not in her mind. No one, after all, meant to fall off of the swivel chair, while changing the light bulb in ones room. No one timed their steps, so that their foot collided with the family's overweight cat; causing both feline and unsuspecting teenage girl to land in a screeching heap at the bottom of the stairs. And most certainly, no one planned on breaking the living room window with a projectile – i.e. the television remote – originally meant for one highly annoying, bratty little brother. Those were simply accidents and if there was one thing Kagome Higurashi was an expert in, it was accidents. Enough of them had certainly happened to her.

But really, having a mystical, time traveling well on your property, that just happened to decide to become active on the one day you decide to chase the family pet; a day that just happened to be your fifteenth birthday? Math was not her best subject, but even she knew that that many coincidences could not possibly add up to an accident.

Kagome tapped her fingers absentmindedly on the wood of the Bone Eater's Well. Accident? Coincidence? Or something else entirely? How exactly did you define the one event that changed your life so completely? When you went from normal teenager, struggling with schoolwork and maintaining an active social life, to an arrow-shooting miko with holy powers on a quest to gather the shards of a sacred jewel, while simultaneously trying to destroy an evil demon, what kind of label did you apply?

"Oi, wench. Are you going to get a move on already, or just stand there and grow roots?"

Kagome jerked back, nearly unbalanced by the heavy backpack. She'd been so lost in thought she hadn't even heard Inuyasha come through the well. Gritting her teeth, trying very hard not to give a very Inuyasha-like curse, she ground out that magic word.

"Osuwari."

A yelp, a muffled thump, then an equally muffled litany of obscenities. Kagome peered into the well, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she watched the hanyou struggle against the pull of the subjugation spell.

_Honestly, will he never learn? _

Straightening the pack for maximum comfort, she climbed onto the lip of the well, letting her feet dangle, while waiting for the subjugation to wear off. Inuyasha would already be ticked at her for giving him an osuwari; no need to aggravate the situation by landing on his back.

Shaking himself of the excess dirt like the proverbial dog, golden eyes came up to meet hers.

"_What?_ Was that supposed to be _funny_? What did I do to deserve that this time?"

Kagome let out a long-suffering sigh. "Honestly Inuyasha, after all this time you still haven't learned that I don't like to be rushed?"

A huff and crossed arms were her answer. Sporting a scowl that was nearly a pout, the hanyou muttered: "Yeah, well we need you back there. There's no hunt without you, you know."

This time, she did smile. _No hunt without me, huh? _She had known the stubborn hanyou long enough now to read between the lines. She knew he didn't just mean the hunt for Naraku or the shards of the sacred jewel. She knew that he meant to say that, without her, life in the feudal era was at a standstill for him and her friends. The gang would linger around the village, while she tried to at least pretend to carry on with her life in the future. And Sango had confessed to her, on more than one occasion, that Inuyasha would spend that time sulking either in the tops of the Goshinboku, or by the Bone Eater's Well.

As she pushed herself off of the ledge of the well and into the waiting arms of Inuyasha, Kagome Higurashi was, as of that moment, quite certain about two things in her life. One: Inuyasha would catch her and safely lower her to the ground. And two: falling into the well that day had been no accident.

She, fifteen-year-old Kagome, had had enough accidents in her life to know that they were meant to be short-lived occurrences; burst of random happenings that resulted in immediate reactions, possibly horrifying and/or embarrassing as they occurred, but ultimately a minor part of life.

Her trip to the feudal era, her subsequent release of Inuyasha, the shattering of the Shikon jewel, her meeting Sango, Miroku and Shippo; nothing about these events was short-lived or random. These were not accidents, but a change of events as meant to be as the rising of the sun each morning.

As strong arms clad in wide, red sleeves closed securely around her, Kagome knew that this was what fate felt like. Inescapable and absolute, like truth, death and taxes. And she wanted it no other way.


	3. Chapter 3

This chapter is dedicated to **AmeliaBlake**. For being my first reviewer I promised her a drabble featuring everyone's favourite slayer. So this one's just for you **AmeliaBlake. **Thanks a lot. Cheers! **  
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**Part III – Sango**

"_Pervert!_" Applying the full force of a body toned from years of intense training, Sango sent the lecherous monk flying with one resounding slap. Huffing and muttering angrily under her breath, she caught up with the rest of the group.

Kagome greeted her with a smile and an ironic look towards the prone figure of Miroku. "Wow Sango, I think you broke your record. That was at least three feet."

"You think?" Thoughtful now, her previous anger nearly forgotten in light of this new discovery, Sango turned as well to regard Miroku, who was already exhibiting signs of twitching back to consciousness. Studying the distance between the downed monk and her position before his 'attack' on her person, Sango had to admit that Kagome might be right. This looked like a record breaker.

"Keh, don't know why he even bothers," Inuyasha scoffed. "You'd think a guy smart enough to con his way into nearly every inn, would figure out to keep his hands to himself."

Now Shippo piped in as well. "Yeah, particularly before Sango breaks her hand on his thick skull."

"You didn't, did you?" Kagome asked, with newly reawakened concern. "Hurt your hand I mean."

Sango inspected her slapping hand, tightening it into a fist a few times, then stretching the fingers. "Nope. Not even a tingle."

Suddenly, her hand was engulfed by two larger ones, and she nearly jumped out of her skin to find Miroku – miraculously back among the living – standing before her.

"You sure your alright?" he asked. His fingers slid over hers, inspecting each digit and knuckle, before turning her hand palm up, his thumbs sliding over the suddenly sensitive flesh.

Sango felt a small shiver run up her back. His voice and eyes were so full of concern; a far cry from the previously lecherous expression he'd worn when he'd groped her. And his fingers were so gentle, so warm against the palm of her hand; the same hand that had left its unmistakable mark on his left cheek.

"I…well…of course I…." she swallowed. She was stuttering. She hated to stutter, particularly while talking to Miroku. It was so unlike her; so unlike the strong, skilled demon slayer she saw herself as.

Because she was the daughter of demon slayers, the last descendent of a long line of demon slayers and she had stepped into that role, preordained as it was, all too happily. She loved everything about it: from protecting those weaker than herself, to the sleek feeling of her armor against her skin and the reassuring heft of her Hiraikotsu. The role of confident demon slayer had been tailor made for her.

But being groped by a perverted monk on a regular basis, and then stuttering like a village girl with a crush when said monk closed the distance between them…well it…it just wasn't right.

_Okay, so he's cute. Alright he's downright handsome. And it is nice of him to show some concern. And he's standing so close. Almost close enough to…_

A not-quite-discreet cough brought Sango back to the moment and she realized that she and Miroku had been staring at each other for what must have been quite a while. Inuyasha, Kagome, Shippo and even Kirara were standing a little ways to the side, watching the slayer and monk with varying expressions of boredom, curiosity and, dare she say it, high hopes of romance, if Kagome's sparkling eyes were any indication.

Feeling her face heat to an indecent degree, Sango snatched her hand away from Miroku's and quickly gave him an expert bonk on the head with her boomerang for good measure.

"Keep your hands to yourself _bouzu, _before I have to do something drastic."

"But Sango," he began to whine. She didn't give him a chance to finish. Quickly turning on her heels, she caught Kagome by the arm and began to hurry the younger girl forward. She could hear Inuyasha behind them, complaining to Miroku about delaying them with his 'antics' and Miroku trying to defend himself by spouting some nonsense about "the irresistible beauty of the female form."

Sango snorted, but couldn't help looking down at her hand every now and again, as they made their way through the countryside on the hunt for Naraku and the shards of the sacred jewel.

And every now and again, a small smile would work itself onto her lips. Maybe, just maybe, being groped once in a while wasn't so horrible a fate as she'd thought.


	4. Chapter 4

This chapter is for **EntropistAnon**, who was kind enough to encourage me in writing these more reflective drabbles. Thanks for the great review. Cheers!

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**Part IV – Sesshomaru**

In many ways, Sesshomaru was the product of fate. His parents had come together for the specific purpose of creating an heir for the Western Lands and the legacy of his demon heritage.

He had been envisioned as a blend of his mother's pride and cunning and his father's strength and brilliance in battle. They had hoped to create the epitome of demon aristocracy, a _daiyoukai_ without peers.

In order to be the equal of this fate, he had been trained accordingly. From the time he was a pup, he had spent hours by his mother's side, learning the proud history of his family, memorizing the names of the other _daiyoukai_ families and their lineage, as well as his own. It was his mother who had taught him the art of keeping his emotions hidden, his face regally blank and his back straight, while standing to the right of her throne, listening to an endless parade of petitioners, complainants and sycophants. Fated to be the Lord of the West, he had had to learn to tolerate those beneath him, while holding them in contempt at the same time.

His father, in turn, had taught him the art of war and the ways of the warrior. Whereas the fate his mother had envisioned for him required stillness and aloof calm, his father's idea of the son's fate demanded a body in action. So Sesshomaru spent the other half of his days under the tutelage of the Dog Demon General; being drilled in combat, tactics, military history and strategy. Groomed – in the metaphorical sense – to take up the mantel of the next Western General.

But when his father took up with the _ningen_ princess Izayoi, and perished in a foolish attempt to save both her and the miserable _hanyou_ Inuyasha, Sesshomaru realized something his parents had never taught him. Namely, that you could fail in living up to your fate. For Sesshomaru, there had never been any question that he would become what his parents had envisioned him to be. It was what he had been born for, trained for and because they never considered the possibility of his failure, neither did he. But his father had been born to the same fate; bred and trained by his parents as he had bred and trained Sesshomaru. And yet, Inu no Taisho had died in a battle he never should have fought, for a woman he should never have loved and a son who never should have been born.

Because his father had attempted to shrug off his fate and pursue a new one, the great General - revered, feared, respected and loved - had died an ignominious death and brought shame upon his mate and oldest son. His father had disgraced them and Sesshomaru swore that this was one fate he would not share with his sire.

So he had thrown himself into the pursuit of power: seeking ever stronger opponents, training more rigorously every day, becoming ever more ruthless in his dealings with others and himself. He sharpened his discipline, as well as his tongue, and when he caught whispers of someone mentioning the fate of the former Lord of the Western Lands, he tested that sharpness out on them. Never would he allow someone to bring the fate of his father in connection with him.

A shrill squeal and a child's laugh brought his deliberations to focus on two of his three followers. Rin, in an apparent attempt to gain Jaken's attention, had doused the imp in a plethora of previously picked flowers. Outraged, Jaken gave chase, which, judging by the grin on Rin's face, had been the girl's goal all along.

From his spot leaning against the wide trunk of a tree, Sesshomaru watched this ridiculous behavior. His servants could be the cause of great annoyance sometimes and certainly it would be of greater convenience to him if he left them behind. Yet, their presence served a unique purpose. Each of his three servants represented some aspect of his ultimate fate. Ah-Un was his mastery over lesser beast _youkai_, the first true test to his blossoming power. Jaken represented his authority: the authority over his servants, _youkai_ and _ningen alike_, and the respect he was due because of this authority. Rin was his mastery over life and death. She represented the apex of his power and authority, his ability to literally command death and death's ultimate obedience to his will.

As such, it was important that these three remain at his side, as a means of declaring his supremacy to others. No one else could be allowed to harm them; for to attack his servants was to attack their lord, to disrespect them was to disrespect him. As representations, living symbols of his completion of his fate, he must always protect them. It was his responsibility, his duty.

It was a heavy burden to bear along with all the others, which were his to carry as a _daiyoukai_ and Lord of the West. But he was Sesshomaru, son of the Inu no Taisho, had surpassed his father in strength and enforced stability in the Western Lands. He was strong enough to carry any burden that his fate demanded of him. Because that too, was a part of fate.

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**Authors note: **I am having some difficulties with my internet, also, I am currently in a different time zone, so I can no longer promise daily updates. I will, however, try my very best to keep the rhythm going.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part V – Kagura**

As her fingers clenched in the fabric over where her heart was supposed to be, Kagura cursed her fate; a fate which demanded she be the subservient lackey of a demon well on his way to utter lunacy.

"Kagura."

She hated this. She hated him. She hated that she was forced onto her knees, hated the way he practically purred her name. It was demeaning, humiliating, absolutely despicable. And what made it worse was that he enjoyed every minute of it.

"Kagura," he repeated. "You appear to have failed me again."

Long and slender fingers closed around her beating heart and she had to bite her lips to keep from screaming. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Perhaps you'd care to tell me, how exactly the half-breed and his little _friends,_" and Naraku took a moment to taste the last word; stressing it as if it were a drink he did not particularly care for, "managed to escape you yet again. You, a full-fledged demoness." There was mocking now, as well as the customary oily smoothness in his tone.

But she knew. She knew it was just a screen, nothing more than a thin veil covering his rage. And even if she hadn't guessed from his voice, the extra squeeze to her heart that sent her sprawling onto the mansion's polished wooden floors, gasping and struggling to pull air into her lungs, was a sure sign.

Her vision was beginning to grey. Fist colors and then shapes became indistinct as the pain in her chest went on and on; a few extra seconds or an eternity, she could not tell.

_This time, he'll actually do it. This time, he'll kill me. _

There was not as much anger in that thought as she would have liked. Kagura prided herself on her anger as fuel for her defiance, but now, as death, and Naraku, tightened his grip around her, she found nothing but sorrow and a weary acceptance. Perhaps death would not be so bad. It would end her servitude to Naraku once and for all. She would obtain freedom – of a sort.

And then the all-consuming pain in her chest began to lessen and with it, a return of air into her starved lungs. For a few precious moments, she rested her forehead against the cool wood and just breathed.

Then her muscles tensed, her back straightened and in one smooth movement she was kneeling once more; feet tucked properly beneath her and her face as smooth and empty as Kanna's mirror. The moment of weakness had passed and she was Kagura of the Wind once more.

"I imagine you will do better next time, yes?" He made it a question, but they both knew it was not. She answered anyway, because it was expected of her.

"Of course master."

He turned away from her then and she knew she was dismissed. The effort to stand and walk out of his chambers without trembling cost her, but she gladly paid the price. Anything to keep what little dignity she had left.

Once in the hall, she permitted herself a short demonstration of weakness: leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her left hand hovered before her, clutching her fan so tightly that blood ran between her fingers. She added to the pressure, clenching her muscles even more, watching as the wounds widened and the blood ran in ever greater rivulets.

Weak. She had been weak back there. To think, she had actually dared contemplating letting go and surrendering to death.

Unacceptable. She had expected better of herself. She still expected better. She was the wind and the wind did not surrender. It could lessen its force; appear compliant for the moment before turning into a gale of destructive force. But surrender? No. Never! It was against its very nature. And in extension, against hers as well.

So she drank in the pain from her hand, let it mirror the pain in her captive heart and fanned the flames of her hatred.

_I am the wind and I will be free of my fate and my 'master'. I am the wind. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Part VI – Kanna**

Unlike her 'sister' Kagura, Kanna did not spend her time and energy fighting fate and Naraku. To do so, one needed anger, passion and the conviction of having suffered some terrible injustice. As a wind demon, Kagura had the ability to feel all of those things. It was in her nature to possess a stormy temper.

And as much as Kagura was the embodiment of the wind, so Kanna was the embodiment of the void. It was, therefore, not in _her_ nature to feel great passions. She did not feel as if fate had dealt her an unjust hand, because she did not feel at all. And what few emotions she might have had disappeared into the void of her mirror.

Without emotions, Kanna was able to focus on accomplishing those tasks Naraku set her and as a result she was more successful than Kagura and thereby suffered less at the hands of their 'father'.

What neither Kagura nor Naraku understood, the former because of her rage, the latter because of his obsession, was that in the end, fate did not matter. Ultimately it would all become part of the void.


	7. Chapter 7

This chapter very loosely ties-in with chapter 4.

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**Part VII – Rin**

At the age of eight, Rin had already learned what most humans took a lifetime to understand: everything could and would change.

There had already been so much change in her life, that Rin sometimes became dizzy just thinking about it. Her family had been killed by bandits and with that loss had come a change in the way she'd been treated by the villagers. As if her destitution exuded a bad smell that repelled her fellow human beings, the villagers began to avoid her to the point where she was beaten if they caught so much as a whiff of her.

That first major change had forced other smaller, though no less significant, changes on her. With no father to earn a living and no mother to cook her meals, Rin had become the sole provider for herself. She'd learned to gather food, learning, often the hard way, which berries and mushrooms to avoid. She'd learned how to mend her one kimono, to keep the little dilapidated hut as clean and orderly as she could. Rin, with eight, had become as independent and self-proficient as most humans only learned to be in their mid-twenties.

And as the days and months passed, Rin's perceptions and her understanding of the world changed along with her physical surroundings. She began to understand that adults, those great law-keepers and authorities of childhood, were not, in fact, always right. After all, the villagers all agreed that a little girl such as she could not survive on her own. And yet, though she might not flourish, she certainly continued to live. Rin soon began to wonder what else adults might be wrong about.

It was, most likely, this shift in understanding that caused her to remain rooted to the spot when the silver-haired man growled at her. She knew he was a demon. Young she may be, but no one could ever accuse her of being stupid. Even bloodied and maimed, the man was too unearthly in appearance to be human. And since Rin was quite certain that heavenly beings did not growl like a wild dog, a demon was the most logical conclusion. But neither the growling nor his strange coloring caused Rin to run away in terror. She had long since stopped believing in judging someone by appearance. Appearances could be deceiving and a person's attitude towards someone could easily change. Just look at how the villagers had changed in their treatment of her after the death of her family. And the stranger was injured and alone. She knew how that felt like and her own kind heart cried out at a pain that so reflected her own.

The adults had been wrong about how she was fated to die in the aftermath of loosing her family. Perhaps they were wrong about their assessment of demons as well? And really, how much worse could the demon's treatment of her be? Determined, Rin set out to help the demon, as no one had ever helped her.

When the wolves came, Rin knew that things were bound to change for the worse again. The village smelled just as it had on the day the bandits had attacked them; smoke and blood and fear permeated the air. But this time, there was the smell of fur and the howls of wolves and Rin knew there would be no escape by hiding this time. If she wanted to live and prove the adults wrong, then she needed to run. And so she ran towards the one person who had brought some good change into her life: the demon who had shown, even for just a moment, some concern towards her.

She never made it of course. The idea of a child being able to outrun wolves was ridiculous, particularly when they were demon wolves. But she had tried. For once, Rin had attempted to exercise some small amount of control over the impending changes in her life and as the wolves fell upon her she could not help but mourn the fact that she'd been too small, too weak, too much of a child to have any say in the changes a cruel world kept forcing on her.

When the darkness came, she knew that the adults had been right all along.

But even death proved to be not as constant as the adults had made it out to be. Rin awoke to a world of warmth and softness, to eyes that were a burnished gold and long hair as silver as the moon. For a moment, the demon's face showed he was as surprised as she was. Neither had expected her to come back from the dead. The connection lasted only a moment, before the demon pushed her away and made his way down the path, away from the village.

But a moment was all Rin needed. She knew that change had come again to her life, bigger, perhaps, then the one that had taken away her family. She had come back from the dark through the action undertaken by a demon. A demon, who was not supposed to be interested in little girls, unless as a meal. But change had taught Rin that adults could be wrong about many things and she felt sure that this too, was one of them. He had already shown her more kindness than the villagers ever had, and if he were willing to bring her back from the dead, perhaps he would be willing to allow her to follow him.

Rin was too young to understand the complex nature of fate and the many philosophical arguments humans and demons liked to indulge in. But she did understand change and could distinguish between good change and bad. Behind her lay the ruins of bad change, before her walked the harbinger of good change.

So Rin, being young but not stupid, determined to follow Sesshomaru and without knowing it, took her fate into her own hands.


	8. Chapter 8

**Part VIII – Kikyou**

When she had been alive, Kikyou had felt caged by fate. It seemed as if, from the very start, fate had determined to imprison her in a life of responsibility and unhappiness.

She had been born with strong holy powers, so the only option was to send her to the temple for training. There could never have been a life for her except that of a miko. And with being a miko, came the responsibility of taking care of others. Though she was young and female, being a strong miko meant that she was to be the protector, not the recipient of protection. Needing protection meant that she had failed; both in her power, her duty and her fate. So she had been strong for her teachers, her peers and the people she was sent to, to protect.

When her parents had died and her little sister Kaede came to the temple, both for training and to be close to the last of her family, fate had found another chain to bind her with: love. Because Kikyou did love her sister and Kaede was, in fact, the only thing she truly loved in her life. But as bright and pure as that love was, it was also a burden. Little Kaede followed her everywhere, beaming with pride for her older sister's accomplishments, coming to her immediate defense when some of the other mikos talked behind her back or sneered at her aloof demeanor. Kaede's admiration, her downright idolization of Kikyou, forced the older girl to be what her sister believed her to be - the perfect embodiment of a miko: wise, powerful and collected, never afraid or lonely or bitter. And because Kikyou loved her sister, she built this image of a miko around herself, perfected the shell in order to not disappoint the little girl.

With the arrival of the Shikon no Tama in her village, Kikyou realized that the cage fate had been building around her all her life was finally complete. It was said that the jewel was cursed and Kikyou believed it. From the start, the jewel placed a burden upon the young woman's shoulders that seemed to grow heavier with time. _Youkai, _in ever increasing numbers and power, came to the village and everyone, including her little sister, looked to her to protect them.

She slept little, rising often before dawn and getting to bed when the moon was already in the sky. She patrolled daily in ever wider circles in an attempt to head the _youkai _off, before they could enter the village boundaries. She attended to the sick, the injured and old; she made medicines, soaps and perfumes; she strengthened the wards on the shrine, tended to her weapons and those of the village men willing to at least try and help her and while performing all of these duties, she continued to teach Kaede, who had refused to remain in the temple away from her sister.

And she could never falter. Kikyou could never break from her façade, her cage, of being the powerful priestess guarding the sacred jewel. Though she was younger by several decades, the village elders sought her judgment and as such, she had to appear wise even when she was unsure or did not know the answer. The villagers looked to her to protect them from the _youkai _drawn to the village by the jewel's poisonous siren call, so she could never show fear or let her body sag in physical hurt and exhaustion. The village women saw her as a woman freed from the restraints of common life; powerful and respected despite her gender, and so Kikyou had to keep her spine straight and her eyes veiled, to hide the loneliness and sadness that overcame her when she watched those same women, who admired her so much, be courted and given small tokens of affection. The men admired her from a distance as a walking idol of femininity, too beautiful and perfect to be touched and Kikyou held her head high in pride and her face still to hide how much their distant idolization hurt her.

It wasn't until she met Inuyasha that she realized there might be a way out of her cage.

Like her, Inuyasha had been chained to a specific role from birth, the victim of a capricious and malicious fate. As a _hanyou, _there was nothing for him but to be hated and despised by both _youkai _and humans. And like her, he had built up a façade to not only cope with this fate, but to fulfill expectations as well. Being in the same position, she saw through his defenses from the start. He was rude, violent and ill tempered, because it both protected him from the cruelties of others and because it was what he was expected to be. In realizing their kinship, Kikyou lost the heart to kill him.

What she found instead was joy. It seemed that, with the arrival of Inuyasha, there was finally a way out of her fate. Inuyasha wasn't afraid to touch her, didn't admire her so much that it stilled his tongue, nor did he rely solely on her strength to protect him. As time went by, he even came to share some of her burdens, as she, for the first time willingly, came to shoulder some of his. It was love; she knew that, though in hindsight, she also admitted that it was the love of two lonely captives, trying to reach each other through the bars of their cells. Neither one had the strength to break free completely, but the attempt added a bittersweet note to their love.

As one of her _shinidamachu_ approached her with the soul of a recently deceased young woman, Kikyou could not help but reflect on her own death. She supposed part of her hatred for Inuyasha was not just that initial supposed betrayal, but a deep and even bitterer disappointment. As she was dying form her wounds, Kikyou had realized that there was no escape for her. Fate had cast her into a role and she was forced to play it even in the last moments of her life. She had died, not as a woman, loved and mourned, but as a miko, revered and idolized past any semblance of humanity.

Her fingers reached out to accept the offer, the bright ball of energy merging with her skin, giving life where life had no business being. When she had been alive, fate had put her in a cage and had taught her that escape was impossible. But now she was dead, the walking dead, and she had learned something new, something almost bright. Fate had no power over the dead.

* * *

**Author's note: **This drabble is quite long, possibly too long to still be called a drabble, but I found getting into Kikyou's head a more complex and satisfying affair than I first believed. Also, this drabble is a bit longer, because I won't be able to post tomorrow. I have my own fate to attend to, and its calling with bullhorns and cracker jacks. Postings will resume the day after. Cheers! impoeia


	9. Chapter 9

This chapter ties-in with chapter 4.

* * *

**Part IX – Jaken**

As he began to set up camp for that day, Jaken muttered under his breath, casting furtive glances every now and then at his lord to make sure the powerful _youkai _had not heard him. Considering the sensitivity of Sesshomaru's hearing, this was not an easy task and required the small imp to speak in near _sotto voce_. He could have merely stopped complaining, but he found a small pleasure in this quiet act of rebellion, though not enough to risk his lord's boot imprinting itself on his forehead.

Of course, the whole thing was actually Rin's fault. Why his great master put up with the silly little _ningen _was an absolute mystery to Jaken, but her arrival had, so far, brought nothing but misery to him. She was obnoxious in her habits, her constant chatter and sheer defenselessness. She required constant supervision and through some process of elimination Jaken could not quite understand, he had become responsible for her. If she got hungry, it was his job to find her food. When they traveled, he was to make sure she kept up. When they got caught in a storm or stopped for the night, it was his duty to find her shelter, to build a fire, to cook her meals.

It was utterly intolerable!

"Here you go, Master Jaken." The imp looked up to see Rin standing before him, a bundle of twigs under one arm and a bamboo flask filled with water in the other. Alright, so the little _ningen _wasn't as completely helpless as he made her out to be. She did help to set up camp every day and she did manage, most of the time, to find her own food.

Jaken accepted the offerings and grumblingly told Rin to go away, reminding her to: "Stay out of Lord Sesshomaru's way."

Rin nodded solemly, then skipped off to play, or to bother Ah-Un, or whatever it was that little _ningen _girls did when told to go away.

Well, at least she listened. She always did exactly what Lord Sesshomaru told her to and in that, at least, he could not fault her. Lord Sesshomaru was to be obeyed after all, as befitting a _daiyoukai _of his power and magnificence. She did even on occasion accord him the same respect.

Jaken sniffed aloud at the thought. She was still a pest and the fact that he had been reduced to….to…a _nursemaid! _for her was an insult he could hardly bear. It just wasn't fair. From the time he had been a small imp, Jaken had known that it was his fate to serve a powerful _youkai; _to prove his worth, earn his place and have some of that power and respect rub off on him through sheer close association. And Sesshomaru had appeared like an answer to a prayer. He was everything that Jaken was not, his destiny was obviously to become the most powerful _youkai _in Japan, if not the world and Jaken had known, simply known, that it was his to serve the _daiyoukai _and to play some small role in helping him achieve that destiny.

And now, after decades of loyal service, he had been delegated to the demeaning post of caring for his lord's newest 'pet'. This, he was quite sure, was not what fate had in store for him. This was not the reason why he had been born, why he had grown to be clever, and skilled. It was not! not! _not! _his fate to look after little girls! It was unfair, it was unforgivable, he should hand in his resignation right now, he should just pack his things together and tell his lordship to…

Poke.

A large drop of sweat began to form on Jaken's forehead.

Poke.

More began to form.

Poke, poke.

He was absolutely determined to ignore this.

Poke, poke, poke.

He would not dignify her with an answer. He would not respond to this blatant disregard of his person.

Poke, poke, poke, poke.

If he ignored her long enough she would go away.

A tumbled mass of freshly picked flowers nearly buried him beneath them. His senses overwhelmed and his temper at boiling point he jumped out of the pile, swinging his staff and yelling in outrage.

Rin, far from being intimidated by him, laughed and scampered out of his way. Jaken gave chase, all the while swinging the Staff of Two Heads and shouting obscenities at her. Rin only laughed harder, stretching her arms to her sides like a bird in flight, always one step ahead of his stouter form.

Jaken was so caught up in his chase that he had completely forgotten his lord, reclining against the trunk of the biggest tree in the clearing. He therefore did not see the good-sized rock that came flying his way. Among his many other magnificent qualities, Sesshomaru had impeccable aim and the rock hit Jaken squarely on the head. Not surprisingly, the imp was felled, a large bump and bruise beginning to form.

Eyes huge, tears beginning to well in them, Jaken could only wonder what he had done to deserve this fate.

A shadow fell over him; Rin crouched before him, eyes big and concerned. "Master Jaken, you're hurt."

Her concern was actually quite touching. For a moment fresh tears welled in his eyes and his heart actually grew a little fond of Rin.

The feeling was immediately squashed when she gathered him up in her arms, cuddling, actually _cuddling _him to her narrow chest. Oh, the indignity!

"Don't worry Master Jaken, Rin will make it better," the insipient creature chirped. "Rin will make you tea and kiss it till it's _aaaalllll _better."

He couldn't let this go on. He was a _youkai _for the gods sweet sake! "Unhand me this instant you pesky little…"

"Jaken."

His master's voice stopped him cold. Jaken did not need to turn around and see Lord Sesshomaru's warning glare. He could practically feel it stabbing into his back. So the imp went limp within the girl's arms, a look of desolatory acceptance on his face.

When he heard Ah-Un quietly snickering in the background, he nearly began to cry afresh. How could fate be so cruel?

* * *

**Author's note: **These drabbles seem to get longer and longer, I don't know why. I guess this is really more of a One-shot, then a drabble. Jaken was actually quite hard to write, but I love his interactions with Rin. Those two are just too cute and too hilarious when left to their own devises.


	10. Chapter 10

**Part X – Kohaku**

Kohaku had been, more or less from the start, a failure. It wasn't that he was untalented. At the age of eleven, he had become skilled enough with his scythe to be considered a valuable asset during a hunt.

But demon slaying required more than skill with a weapon. It required courage, a strong will and heart, and fierceness and ferocity in battle. It was in these areas that the boy continued to disappoint his father. Kohaku's heart remained timid and far too kind for a life of demon slaying. He preferred peace to battle, lacked the sheer passion that would catapult a body into dangerous situations without hesitation. He was mild in manners and spirit and so his mind had no bulwark against his fears. His imagination was free to run wild with all the possibilities of failure and ultimately, he would always end up hesitating during crucial moments. He was skilled, but he was always a combatant in need of protection; the little boy having to hide behind his older sister's strong form. He often wondered why fate had assigned him such a role, when he was obviously so useless at it. There where times, when he saw that same question reflected in his father's eyes as well.

It wasn't until Naraku had taken over his mind, that Kohaku became a true demon slayer. In that battle, he had had no fear, no doubts, no imagination plaguing him. He had had no mind, no independent thought and thereby, no room for his doubts to take shape and control his body's action. For the first time, Kohaku had an inkling of what it must be like to be Sango; fearless, confident, certain of success. The fact that he was slaughtering his own kin did not, of course, at that time register with him. Nor did his lack of fear. All of that came later and with it the shame and the tears.

Standing in the field of Tiger lilies, Kohaku could reflect on these things and in his solitude, could be honest with himself. He had never liked being a demon slayer. The blood and hate of that life had never appealed to him. But it was the role he had been born into and as the only son of the head of their family there could never have been another life for him, no matter his preferences.

The notion was only reinforced in his time under Naraku's control, when his skills had been used to shed even more blood, demon and human alike. Once he had regained his memories, his sense of self, his revulsion for violence had only grown. All that blood and death, what good could possibly come of it?

Kirara mewled at his side, and the boy looked down at his companion, smiling just a little. He supposed that all things considered, it was quite ironic that he insisted on continuing his life as a demon slayer. He could have left it all behind, joined his sister in the village, perhaps become a farmer and settle down with a nice girl. He could have chosen to spend his life growing things, using his scythe to cut down weeds or rice, instead of demons.

His sister, he knew, was proud of his choice, though sad about his insistence to travel. Sango thought he had finally grown into his role: their father's son, to continue their family's legacy. She wasn't quite right.

Kohaku had come to accept that battle would always be a part of his life. But it wasn't a family legacy or simple acceptance of fate that motivated him. He had realized, that what he had wanted all along, what had driven him to endless hours of practice and training, was the innate urge to protect others. He had finally realized that the reason he admired his sister so much wasn't just her courage in battle, it was her selflessness in putting her life in danger when others weaker than her needed protection. Kohaku wanted to protect others from being bullied and controlled by those who would misuse their power; to keep them from being victims, mindless puppets, as he had been under Naraku.

It had been a long road, uphill most of the way, a path filled with blood and tears and regrets. But Kohaku had learned that fate had actually done him a favor, casting him in the perfect role to fulfill his subconscious desires. Even his time under Naraku had been a small blessing, grounding him in his desire to stand against evil, by showing him just how bad evil could get when left unchecked.

The role of demon slayer was meant for him after all, as long as he interpreted the role in his own way. Not a killer, but a protector. That was a fate he could live with.


	11. Chapter 11

**Part XI – Onigumo/ Naraku**

Depending on who you asked, evil could be a number of things. Some would say that lying was evil; others would say that seducing a neighbor's wife was evil. Others still would claim that stealing, cheating, or murdering was evil. For Onigumo, who did all of those things and more, evil was merely a tool, a means to an end.

He hadn't become a bandit for monetary gain, though greed was a fundamental aspect of his nature and he did enjoy the perks money could buy him. Nor had the opportunity for violence been a major factor in his decision. He liked to see others suffer, though he rarely enjoyed getting his hands dirty. He preferred to watch to active participation.

Onigumo had become a bandit because he wanted power. It was the source of his greed, his justification for inflicting pain. When you made someone suffer, you held power over them. And money was simply the easiest way of gaining power. It was everywhere and often ripe for the plucking to a man who was willing to take it.

Power was like a fine and heady wine, it intoxicated and soon Onigumo had become so addicted, he could no longer keep his need checked by caution. He took risks, committed more elaborate crimes and finally rid himself of the man standing between him and complete power over the other bandits in the group. As he reveled in success, he became convinced that power was his fate. He may not have been born a noble, but there were other ways to gain power and he had found that fate, much like fortune, smiled on the bold.

Even crippled and burned, confined to a small cave and dependent on the kindness of a miko, his belief in his fate had not been shaken. As if to make up for his body's failings, his greed grew to exponential dimensions during his time as an invalid. At first, it had been his desire for the miko Kikyou that had motivated him. His imagination ran wild with possibilities, not just on how to gain power over her, but also how her power would be useful to him.

But when he learned of the Shikon no Tama, the legendary jewel, and its ability to grant the holder any wish, his breath nearly stopped within his mangled chest. He had known that power was his fate and it seemed that fate had, from the start, led him to the jewel, the key to achieving his goal, the means of satisfying his greed. Why else would he have been washed up on the shores of the very same village that just happened to be the resting place of the Shikon no Tama? Why else would Kikyou, who just happened to be the miko charged with protecting the jewel, be the one to care for him?

His greed mixed with his lust and became a powerful motivator and he set his not inconsiderable mind and amount of time available to him to find a means of possessing the jewel.

And the miko.

He was not very surprised when the spider demon spoke to him. It was, he was convinced, merely another message from fate, more proof of how he was meant to gain power. By then, his greed had made him quite mad, so Onigumo did not hesitate to offer his body to the spider and any other smaller demon in the area. The price of his humanity was small in comparison to what he would gain. And besides, he had already sacrificed his humanity many years before.

When Naraku opened his eyes, they burned with Onigumo's greed. He wasted no time by lingering in the cave; he had been given the means to accomplish his fate. It was time to satisfy his ambitions and take what was rightfully his.


	12. Chapter 12

**Part XII – Inuyasha **

He could still remember clearly the day he had learned the most important lesson of his life. He had been young, a very small child chasing after a ball in an attempt to join what looked like a fun game. But when he had turned around, ball in hand, the others had gone. In their wake they left muttered words and his mother, eyes sad with a deep foreknowledge he could not yet grasp.

Abomination. Filthy blood. _Hanyou. _

Locked in his mother's warm embrace, seeing her cry on his behalf as she attempted to shield him from the damming words, he had gotten his first glimpse of one of the universes fundamental truths: life was cruel.

As he grew older; as he came to understand that his mother's solitude was as complete and iron as his own, as he heard and understood the words directed at her, he learned a second truth. Life was cruel, yes. But life, at least, tended to be restrained to a single individual. It was contained within each living thing, everywhere, but boxed in at the same time. To life, individuals were but single threads animated by its force. It was fate that wove these individual threads together, that caused them to meet, collide, become entangled in each other.

His mother often said that it was fate that had caused her to meet his father, for the two of them to fall in love. If that was so, then fate had caused the death of his father, the loneliness of his mother and his own hated existence. Life was cruel, but its cruelty could serve a purpose. Without the cruelty that inhabited his own life, he never would have come to appreciate his mother's own kind heart as he had.

But fate was worse than life. Fate, Inuyasha learned, was not just cruel. Fate was unkind.

He internalized the lesson and it helped him survive in a world determined to see him falter and fail. It wasn't until he met Kikyou that he forgot.

Kikyou was kind and that helped to earn his trust. Kindness to him, signified a good person, a person you could, perhaps, come to trust. And, as time went on, a person you could love as well. He began to hope then, but it wasn't until that day by the river, when she tripped and fell into his arms that he threw caution to the wind and forgot about fate. The Shikon no Tama could make him human, could give him a new life. A new fate.

Inuyasha should have realized that it would never be that easy and that fate did not like to be balked. As the arrow bore through his chest and into the tree, he watched the bitter anger in Kikyou's eyes burn away the tears of disappointment. And as the sleep settled over him, he could not help but let his own bitter knowledge take root in his heart. He would not forget again. Fate was never kind.


	13. Chapter 13

**Part XIII – Inuyasha II**

Inuyasha held very still, wary of disturbing a sleeping Kagome. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but tighten his arms around her just a little bit more. Nor could he keep himself from skimming his nose lightly over the top of her head, taking in her scent. His ears concentrated on her breath, her heartbeat, the smallest of sounds. He needed these things to convince himself of the reality of her.

That she was actually here, in the feudal era, with him, bordered on a miracle of such proportion it threatened to overwhelm his mind. He hadn't thought it possible. And though none of them would have ever said so out loud, Inuyasha knew that, as the years had passed, none of his friends had thought it possible either.

When the well had closed, he'd thought his heart would close with it. Once again, he had allowed himself to forget the hard-earned lessons of life and fate, and once again, fate had laughed in his face. But a funny thing had happened. Instead of becoming bitter and enraged, as had happened at the violent conclusion to his love with Kikyou, Inuyasha had felt only love.

He had, of course, been sad and even shed more than his fair share of tears over the course of many a lonely night spent at the well. There had even been times when he had cursed at the damned thing, or his friends, in frustration and disappointment at the fact that Kagome had been taken away from him. But even his most violent outbursts had passed and left behind them not a festering wound, but a soul slowly cleansing itself of an immense grief. And always, there had been hope and love.

Because he did love Kagome, whether she was by his side or not. And he loved her not as a means of escape, not as a chance for a different life, but as a person, single and unique. It was why he had been able to let her go when the well pulled him back to his own time. She had been safe, in the arms of her family and happy. And though he'd missed her, that knowledge was enough to banish most of his regrets.

And there was always hope. There had been no room in his heart for hope during Kikyou's supposed betrayal. And his long sleep had only reinforced that emptiness. But Kagome had given him hope through her encouragement and example. She had always urged him to believe in himself and in others, as freely as she did. With her, his hopes had not depended on cheating fate by means of a treacherous jewel. With Kagome, life itself was hope; even in her absence.

He rested his chin on the crown of her head, feeling the warmth of her body against his. His hope had been rewarded. He had not fallen into bitterness and anger, had kept a hold on his love for the girl in his arms and had continued his life as she had taught him, with friends and with love. And now she was back to share that life with him.

Inuyasha had known, from a very young age, that it was fate that threw people together, caused their lives to become tangled in each other. He used to believe that it was unkind of fate, to play with their lives according to its fickle whim. But even a stubborn dog could learn new things, with the right person by his side to teach him. Fate had brought him Kagome for the second time now.

He would take care to remember that lesson. It seemed that fate could be kind after all.


End file.
